Is this What You Want?
by secretparamour
Summary: When you lose everything  even for a day , do you ever end up asking if "that's what you really want" out of it? Read and Review! *I do not own Victorious*


**Hi! So tonight, for whatever reason, I had an urge to write something. So I wrote this, totally winging it. I tried some different literary techniques (maybe you can find some!), ones I typically _don't_ use - hopefully using them well. This is not my best work, so please don't think that this is how I always write (check out my other work, too). I wanted to experiment, a different perspective, in 3rd person, with literary devices. Its short, but hopefully you all like it, nevertheless. Please review at the end. **

"I can't take this anymore!" She yelled, her voice shrill, and her lungpower almost at maximum capacity.

"What can't you take anymore?" He asked, slightly calmer than her, but the anger still present in his voice.

She brought her hands to her head, scrunching her fingers, as if that would find the words for her. He stared at her for several seconds, waiting for the answer. She began to face, her face softening.

She came to an abrupt stop, looking up timidly, and gaining courage to look at him.

"I can't take that you don't take this seriously." She whispered.

He stood, dumbfounded. Took what seriously? He contemplated on what to say.

"What don't I take seriously?" He asked, realizing how not much thought was required for such a simple question.

Dead Silence.

It was dead silent, and neither of them could take it. She felt tears weld up in her eyes, and she decided that it was okay if she let them spill. They trickled down her face, creating a waterfall of a makeup, rivers of slow painful heartbreak.

She breathed, and a whisper came out, "I can't take that you don't take us seriously." With that, she grabbed her bag and walked out the door. After hours of fighting and yelling, the fight ended with a simple door slam.

He stood, once again, dumbfounded. He didn't take them seriously? How could she even conclude that? He stood for minutes, hearing the visibly loud sound of her car's ignition starting up, and the soft noises of the wheels driving away. He heard the clichéd rain pounding at his roof. He heard a tear come from his chest, and shivers come upon his body as if a bandage of no use.

He sat down on his bed, playing with the loose strands releasing from his pillowcase. He lay down on his bed, pretending he was dead – and wondered what in the world could have led to this? When had this trust been lost? Come to think of it, the relationship hadn't been built upon much trust in the first place. He couldn't help but ponder about how this had come about.

The next day, he entered school with his boots making silent squeaky sounds. He went to his locker, shoving things around the disheveled mess. He turned behind him, to see her at her locker, spinning the lock around to open it. He stared at her – she didn't look broken (maybe she felt it?), she didn't look sad (maybe she was?), she didn't look angry (she usually was though…), she didn't look heartbroken (well, who could ever see her broken heart?). After all, she was an actress, a liar. She had learned how to lie at a young age, avoiding her parents' quick questions with fast fibs. She had developed a talent – one to be proud of? That was questionable. Before he had another moment to think of something that was going on with her, she was gone. He saw her stride right past him, swift with elegance. She had completely ignored him. She walked passed him, as if nothing had gone wrong in her life – as if she never knew him. Maybe he was taking it to far?

He walked to class, his hand feeling cold and empty. He missed having her hand in his, and it had only been a day. He took his seat in class, his head, subconsciously, turning to see her face next to him, only to find a ditzy redhead chewing on her hair and giggling. He looked around, and found her sitting in the corner and scribbling in her notebook. He'd seen her notebook before; it was filled with poems, lyrics, thoughts, and drawings, crinkled pages of tears. He wondered if she was writing about him, drawing his face, or sketching her broken heart (if she felt broken at all?). He stared, and then came the teacher.

Class was fine, with him having to go up and present his acting project, and having to stare at the whole class (her) without breaking into tears...

He went through the entire day feeling barren, winds blowing through the lonesome desert body of his. She ignored him the whole day, he noticed. She had ignored everyone. He drove to the nearby park, humming a tune he had never captured before. He got out of the car, and began strolling down "their" path. His fingers fidgeted with his belt, his knees shaking. He was going to fall.

He took a seat at the bench before he actually collapsed. He thought he was strong. He thought he was cool. This – this was not cool. He thought he would be able to handle a break up (would this even count as one?), but this was too much. She had questioned him, in a way he had never thought before. How could she think that he didn't respect their relationship? How could she think that their bond was simply a mere label to him? How could she think that he didn't take this love seriously?

He broke down into silent tears instantly. The questions exploded in his mind, cold and hard snow in the tundra of his mind. Was that serious enough?

He yelled at the sky, "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?"

He sat there, head buried into his knees, sobbing, without a sound. Salted tears spilled over his jeans, and his hair fell over his face. As sound began to blur out of his mind, silent tears were heard through his ears. His heart started pounding, as the sound became more distinct, and suddenly he felt a small pressure on the wooden bench.

Turning to see the other broken soul, was his one and only. It was she. She turned to face him, makeup running down her face. She threw on a sad smile.

"NO." She said.

And then it started raining the clichéd rain - but this time; they fell into each other's embrace, crying silently over one another.

**I don't know what happened at the end...I'm sorry. Hopefully**** you caught some different techniques I used...if not, no problem! I liked the whole CAPS mix up at the end, it was cute, in my opinion. I tried to capture how Beck is almost nothing without Jade. Jade is what triggers him, you know? I was watching the shows, and he really isn't one to speak without either backing up or warning about Jade. With such an abrupt leave, I feel he may feel really hollow, and hopefully you all captured that. I referenced to my story "Change of Nothing" directly here, so check that out. I hope you liked it (sorry if it was bad...). I wasn't too fond of it, but I needed something uploaded.  
>Please review. Reviews mean the world. Constructive Criticism Only. Thanks. ~secretparamour~<strong>


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